


The Spymaster's Pet

by JuliaBrownen



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: 18th Century, Drama, F/M, Intrigue, Period Typical Attitudes, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-09-25 23:03:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9850712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuliaBrownen/pseuds/JuliaBrownen
Summary: Sophie de Clermont has taken a lover. Fabien Marchal grows jealous. Before the spymaster can intervene, Fabien and Sophie are ensnared in court intrigue that will pit master against pet. The two come to rely on each other as both fight to survive Versailles. Rated 'M' for later chapters. (Sophie/OC) (Sophie/Fabien)





	1. Chapter 1

A faint glow of early morning light shone on Sophie de Clermont as she sat at her boudoir drinking her morning chocolate. It was an expensive drink, luxurious in taste and price. Queen Maria Theresa had recently ordered a shipment of cocoa bean from the Spanish colonies to delight the new court at Versailles. Sophie, as a court lady, was privileged with a cup of chocolate for breakfast on Sunday mornings before Mass.

As she sipped from her porcelain tea cup, Sophie heard the door to her room open. Thinking it was her maid with new linens, the young lady did not turn around. Instead, she called out, "Minette, just leave the linens on the bed. Also, pull out my green silk dress for today. It is most complimentary to my skin, is it not?"

"I find the yellow silk much more becoming on you."

The fine hairs on the back of Sophie's neck rose in panic. Inadvertently, her hand shook as she set the teacup down on her dresser. She still did not turn around to address Fabien Marchal, but kept her head down staring at her lap. Despite the rapid beating of her heart, Sophie was proud that her outward composure was somewhat intact.

It had been ten months since her employment in Marchal's army of spies. Their meetings were frequent. She would recite every secret or clandestine story she overheard. Marchal had secured her a spot in Queen Maria's retinue. It was a coveted position and offered her access to important gossip. Usually, Sophie ventured to Marchal's office in the palace's dungeons. Never had he ventured to find her.

"This is quite an unexpected visit, Monsieur. I thought you wished our arrangement to remain a secret?"

Sophie glanced up to look at Marchal. His appearance was plain. He did not wear the dandified ensemble of the other courtiers, but the cut of his clothing displayed obvious wealth. His hair was clean and properly combed. His face was indecipherable, and that was the most terrifying thing about Marchal. She had learned to read people; decipher the flagrant smiles and overt niceties of Versailles' courtiers. Sophie knew when someone was being cordial they were usually hiding something.

Not Fabien Marchal. He said one thing and meant another.

"It is still early. Most of the court is still asleep, or in their rooms recovering from the King's festivities last night. I came undetected," Marchal explained.

Yesterday had been Madame de Montespan's birthday. Montespan was now the King's official mistress. Her birthday had been a cause for the court's celebration. The revelries had lasted well into the early morning, but Sophie had retired early with a headache. No doubt that was the reason Marchal was here; to reprimand her. If Sophie was in bed, it meant she was not collecting valuable intel for him.

To gain the upper hand, and spare herself a scolding, Sophie began to apologize, "I am sorry if I left the party early. Nothing of real importance was being said and my head was hurting so much I could not see straight. I am going to Mass today and everyone shall be talking there of what happened last night. I will let you know what I hear."  
The King's agent frowned and crossed his arms.

"I care not about last night. I am more concerned about your relationship with Chevalier de Roquelaure."

Without thinking, Sophie shot up to her feet. Despite Marchal's teachings, she was still a young woman whose passions overpowered her senses. The mention of her lover made Sophie nervous. They had been so careful to conceal their relationship. She should have known that Marchal would find out somehow.

Marchal advanced towards her and Sophie felt the edge of her dresser dig into her lower back. Biting her lip, Sophie gazed straight into Marchal's black eyes. She tried to channel the confidence her mother had imparted on her, but her mother had died at this man's hands. Sophie lived in constant anticipation of her own demise. She had told Marchal at the start of their agreement that death would be a welcome relief from his control. However, Sophie was selfish enough to want to live.

There were so many things she still wanted to experience.

"I take your silence as an affirmation. I do not keep you here at court to strike up flirtations with useless musicians," he growled.

"He is not just a musician. He is a nobleman from an old family!"

Sophie's retort was in vain. Marchal countered, "A minor noble from a cadet branch of a family with no power in this court!"

Even though Sophie wanted to disagree, it was all true. Leonard, the Chevalier de Roquelaure, was the younger son of a younger son employed as a music teacher in the Queen's household. Leonard's family was comfortably settled near Toulouse. He had ventured to make a name for himself at Versailles with his musical talents. Sophie had met him while he had serenaded the Queen's ladies during a game of roulette.

"You will end this affair immediately, or I will report to the Queen that the Chevalier has compromised the dignity of one of her ladies under duress," Marchal threatened. His face was mere inches away from Sophie which caused a shudder to course through her.

"Please," she softly begged. Raising her voice and yelling incoherently would do little to help the situation. She hoped levity would endeavor her to Marchal, "I promise to continue to flirt and seduce whoever you please. Leonard and I only wish to be together. He has mentioned that once he makes a little money we may be able to... I mean he has promised to…"

Her words were becoming a jumble as her confidence dwindled. Marchal was growing more disgusted by the minute, but suddenly a crooked smirk appeared on his face. He chuckled to himself. It was a mirthless sound that soured the chocolate in Sophie's stomach.

All-knowing, Marchal finished Sophie's argument, "The Chevalier promises to marry you?"

A nod of her head was all Sophie could manage. She felt the pain of last night's headache beginning to return. The air in the room was growing hot, or was that just Marchal's breath on her forehead? She needed to lie down if she was going to make it to Mass today. Leonard always saved her a spot near the choir. They usually took a walk on the grounds together after Mass. Maybe it was a juvenile fantasy; marriage to a musician. Her mother would be rolling in her grave at the idea. However, Sophie would not let Marchal take Leonard away from her.

"If I marry you will not have to deal with me anymore."

"If you marry I lose a valuable pair of eyes. You have a debt to me. Remember your dear mother killed my loyal assistant."

Sophie pushed away from Marchal attempting to dislodge herself from between the man and the dresser. He blocked her escape with his body. The struggle caused her cup of chocolate to fall off the dresser. Porcelain and chocolate crashing and shattering against the marble. The room was spinning and she felt like she was going to be ill. The young lady frowned, "I can still spy for you if I am married."

"Not in the manner which I need. An unchaperoned and, seemingly, innocent girl at court is more appealing than a married woman with a husband," Marchal tapped his wooden-soled shoe on the marble floor.

"Marriage means nothing here. Look at Madame de Montespan, she is married and the King's mistress."

The King's agent was growing impatient. He lashed out at Sophie's grabbing her wrists tightly. She did not cry out, but struggled in his grasp. Marshall shook her, "You will end it today. That is final. If you do not I will throw you out onto the street myself. Your Leonard, though a musician, is still dignified enough to not marry a common Protestant with a traitor mother."

Sophie's resolve was gone and her knees buckled. She crumbled in Marchal's grip and sunk to the floor leaning against the dresser. The spilled chocolate stained the white underskirts she wore; the brown liquid marring the pristine white cotton. Tears were spilling down her face and she hugged her body in a pathetic attempt of comfort. In these moments, Sophie longed for her mother's touch. Leonard could offer her solace, but only to such an extent. Marchal stared down at her with his unfeeling eyes.

A beat passed before Marchal stalked out of the room leaving Sophie to cry on the floor.


	2. Chapter 2

The drone of the Cardinal’s voice echoed throughout the chapel. Marchal watched from the sacristy behind the alter. King Louis XIV stood beside him. 

After the Dauphine’s kidnapping by Rohan, the King demanded Marchal’s presence at his side constantly. The monarch was still carrying a heavy burden for Princess Henriette’s death despite Madame de Montespan’s companionship. 

Marchal ran his gaze over the crowd. Instinctively, it settled on Sophie de Clermont. 

His spy was dressed in the yellow silk gown that he had suggested earlier. A black veil partially covered her face as was appropriate for Sunday service. Even shielded by a veil, her beauty was evident. Sophie radiated youth and poise. A brunette tendril was free from her coiffure and rested against her long neck. This morning’s confrontation had obviously shaken her. He had left her crying on her bedroom floor. Yet, here she was calm and composed. Marchal was pleased to see that she was sandwiched between a Dowager Countess and a Spanish Lady in the Queen’s retinue. Her lover, the Chevalier de Lur-Salces, sat across the aisle looking forlorn at his companion’s absence. 

In fact, Sophie had not ventured a single glance at the musician throughout the entire service which doubly pleased him. She was an obedient girl, he would credit her that. Her mother had raised her into the perfect puppet. Marchal gladly acted as her puppet-master; pulling her strings as he wished.

It was not Marchal’s intent to ruin the young lady’s prospects. She was simply a pawn in the game of court intrigue. The King smelled conspiracy at every turn, and it was Marchal’s duty to snuff such treachery out. With Sophie in the Queen’s retinue and he in the King’s, they made a fearsome pair of infiltrators. Neither a spurned lover, or inattentive servant passed by them unnoticed.

If not for the sins of her mother, Sophie would be free to do as she wished when it came to the Chevalier. Marchal still held a grudge against Madame de Claremont. A grudge that he would make sure her daughter paid for repeatedly until the debt was cleared from his conscious.

The Concluding Rites were spoken by the Cardinal. Those in the chapel, including the King and Marchal, crossed themselves and kissed their pressed fingers. The choir sang as the Queen stood to depart. Her ladies followed in unison behind her. Marchal observed Sophie stand in her bright yellow dress. A colored ray of sunlight from the stained glass painting her face unmasked by the veil. 

For a moment, Sophie glanced up at where Marchal stood. Her brown eyes scrutinized him from behind the sacristy screen until she lowered her head. With a sweep of her skirts, she followed the retinue of women out of the chapel walking right past the Chevalier de Lur-Salces.

Marchal smiled inwardly.

There was something about the notion of his protégée marrying that was unsettling. Perhaps, it was the awareness of someone in his employ being happy that undid him. No one could be happy until the King was truly safe. Until that faithful day, they should all be servants to his majesty’s security. If Louis XIV were to die, all of Versailles would come crashing down around him. 

“Madame de Montespan has been distant of late. Last night, she appeared strained despite her enjoyment of the party. You will find out what is wrong for me,” the King commanded. 

Bowing his head, the agent gave a curt bow to the King before departing the sacristy. 

He descended a narrow flight of stairs before coming into a hall where the courtiers of Versailles were mingling. Skimming the ensembled guests, Marchal tried to locate Sophie. Her yellow gown was absent from the crowd, and he frowned in disapproval.  
Maybe she wasn’t as loyal as he had hoped. Several people greeted him as they passed. They did not do this out of genuine pleasure at his appearance, but rather in fear of the consequences if they did not. Marchal had no title, no rights, no land. He did have the King’s favor and confidence, and that was much more important.

As he entered the gardens, Marchal was hit by hot and humid air. Nearby swamps had yet to be fully drained much to the King’s frustration. The swamps created a soupy atmosphere that was nearly suffocating in its warmth. 

Marchal made his way through the garden paths, hunting for his prey. He was growing increasingly exasperated as his search went on. Sweat was beginning to clung to his forehead as the old wound Castel had given him ached. His side was still tender and bothered him from time to time. It acted as a reminder that he was growing older and weaker with the passing years. Nearing forty-five, Marchal was by no means an old man. He was not so young, however, to bounce back in full health from a stab wound.

Finally, the agent came upon Sophie in a tête-à-tête with Leonard de Lur-Salce.

Instinct told him to break up their conversation by revealing his presence. However, he was smart enough to know that from his position he could listen to their conversation. If at such time, he felt it necessary, Marchal would end the lover’s meeting.

“I cannot explain why, but we cannot continue like this. It is not safe for you,” Sophie pleaded.

“Not safe for me? Do you have a protective father or brother that will challenge me to a duel for your honor?” Leonard pressed. Marchal did not like the teasing tone of his voice. For some reason, he formed an immediate dislike for the Chevalier.

“No, it is not that. The Queen is very pious and unsanctioned relationships are strictly forbidden. Your position could be compromised if we are discovered.”

It was a nonsensical argument. The Queen’s ladies were notorious for their loose morals. However, as a recent arrival to court, the Chevalier was in no position to know better.

The Chevalier enfolded Sophie in his arms, an action that made Marchal’s skin crawl. Leonard attempted to soothe her, “I only need a few more months and then I shall have saved enough money for a modest wedding ceremony. Maybe we could leave court altogether and return home to my family’s estate in Marseilles? We can make it work, Sophie.”

Marchal watched as Sophie allowed herself to be embraced. Her veil had been removed and her bare cheek rubbed the velvet fabric of the musician’s coat. A consummate actress – just like her mother. If only the Chevalier knew the kind of woman he had involved himself with. Sophie’s mother had been just the same. Ensnaring Marchal in a tryst only to try and poison him once he was comfortable. Women were all the same; scheming, scraping, and fighting for their own pleasure.

Just as he was about to interrupt the pair, Marchal paused as Sophie raised her head to look up at the Chevalier. Her aquiline profile was on display as she quietly declared, “You have given me such happiness; the likes of which I believed I was unworthy of. I cannot marry you Leonard and I cannot explain why. Do not try and contact me or I will ask the Queen for a dismissal from court, and you shall never see me again. Goodbye.”

Sophie placed a chaste kiss to Leonard’s surprised mouth then disentangled herself from her lover.

Marchal ducked out of sight as Sophie ran past him. He heard Leonard calling Sophie’s name. Regardless of his satisfaction in the turn of events, Marchal could feel a deeply buried twinge of guilt strike his unfeeling heart.

**Author's Note:**

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